


To Ten, and Again

by CopperCaravan



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Fera Shepard, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I think it's fluff anyway, Kissing, Partners to Lovers, idk it's supposed to be sweet but of course nothing's ever that easy with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:11:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6157699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperCaravan/pseuds/CopperCaravan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turians don't kiss like humans do, and nobody really minds that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Ten, and Again

The first kiss is not a kiss, not really.

“I don’t think kissing Turians will be necessary,” Shepard says. She can’t stop her gaze sliding toward the Mako, where her Turian sniper/mechanic/cowboy cop is lying on his back underneath the rover. _Wouldn’t be the worst way to finish a fight though,_ she thinks.

Garrus pretends not to hear, but he does. He hears the hint in Ashley’s rebuttal and the laugh in Shepard’s voice. It isn’t malice—he’s not a joke to her. It’s only... soft. Surprisingly so for a woman like the Commander. Turians can’t kiss, anyway, not like humans do.

But his mind wanders, once or twice, to thoughts of her face, her mouth, her lips. It’s silent—private—but there, in the back of his waking mind and the front of his dreams. Shepard and that... stuff. (“Chapstick,” she calls it.) Her lips taste like fruit when she wears it. Not that he would know.

 ...

The second kiss is a kiss, of a sort.

After the Citadel, after... everything, it all comes down to some broken bones and gunshot wounds, hospital dressings and business-as-usual. She’s not sure how long she’ll be gone. “We’ll be back soon, though,” she promises anyway.

It’s strange: leaving her best friend—a sturdiness, a support, found so easily, formed so quickly, built so strong—while she goes off to hunt nothing for political convenience. She doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it either. But he isn’t leaving the hospital any time soon and— _hell, might as well give this “cowboy cop” thing another go,_ he’d thought.

“Shepard,” he starts. And it’s without thought—it’s like her brothers, her father, her mother back home; it’s like all the friends she’s ever had, but it’s not like that at all—her lips are pressed gently to his forehead, the only goodbye she knows to give someone she loves.

“Hurry up and get better, Vakarian,” she says, waving behind her as she walks out the door.

When she’s long gone, he asks one of his old co-workers to bring by “some human fruit.”

“Cherries, I think it’s called.”

 ...

The third kiss might be a kiss, but maybe not.

“Shepard.” A breath. Air. He’s been in this tunnel so long now, he’s forgotten what it is to breathe.

“Garrus!” A breath. Relief. She’s been so alone; everything hurts all the time and there’s no one she—she’s forgotten what it is to hear a friend say her name.

It’s a quick hug—no time for affection on a battlefield like this one—but it’s comfort. _I missed you. I thought you were gone. I’m here now. I’m glad._

His hands cradle her head, her hair catching against the side of his face and her arms are so tight around his shoulders, he thinks she won’t let go. _And I’d be ok with that._ But he’s not quite sure if the slight pressure, the feel of something grazing the side of his face—he’s not quite sure that it _isn’t_ her lips. And she’s not quite sure of it either.

 ...

The forth kiss is a kiss, without doubt.

It’s not fear in her eyes—never seems to be fear where Shepard’s involved—but something makes her reach for his hand while Pragia explodes behind them. Jack’s grinning and thrusting her fists in the air and cursing in victory, but Shepard...

Shepard’s looking out the window at all the pretty colors of every victory she can’t really win. It’s nothing, this. But it’s _something_ and that’s everything. And if anyone expected it, it wasn’t Shepard, wasn’t Garrus, but this kiss is a kiss and he hasn’t forgotten the way those pretty little human fruits smell. Turns out the real thing isn’t nearly as strong as Shepard’s “chapstick” but it’s over before he can react, before he can wrap his arms around her and hold her there. Turians can’t kiss, not like humans do. But _being_ kissed, by Shepard? He can do that.

 ...

The fifth kiss is a kiss, but Shepard doesn’t know it.

She knows it’s something, but it feels like everything Garrus already is: comfort and support and _home._ She can’t sleep—never can these days—and Garrus presses his forehead to hers and she can _feel_ it: a hum, a purr, something like all the things she thinks when he’s there.

And Garrus doesn’t know how else to tell her. Human words are human words and they fall flat when he tries to say it: _I’m here, Shepard. I’m always here._ But he knows this; he can do this. Humans can’t kiss like Turians do, but that’s not going to stop him now.

 ...

The sixth kiss is lots of kisses, in lots of places, lots of ways.

Shepard thinks maybe she’s making up for all the time she’ll never have. Garrus thinks maybe he’s making up for all the time he didn’t use before.

It’s... learning mostly. Hands that don’t know where to go or what to touch. But they do learn and there are kisses of both sorts, trying to heal every hurt one got without the other.

Shepard holds everything in her heart _just in case I live._

Garrus holds it all there because _I know we will._

 ...

The seventh kiss, the eight kiss, the ninth...

Because they’re alive, despite it all. Because after all this time, they can take a breath. They aren’t going to die tonight.

And probably not tomorrow either.

Shepard will go to Earth for her trial. They’ll take her ship, her crew, her rank. But they won’t take this from her, not after everything, not after all this.

And Garrus will go to Palaven. He needs to see his father, his sister, his mother. But he won’t forget Shepard. No matter how long he has to wait.

 ...

The tenth kiss is overdue. By a lot.

“I didn’t forget you.”

The Primarch, the War, the Reapers—they are trifles when she looks at him like that, when she kisses him like humans do.

And he doesn’t know if she knows that he kisses her too. (She does.)

It’s only a moment here and there that they can steal, that they can hide away in the quiet of the cabin or the battery. But those moments are everything, the only solace in the midst of it all and there is no guilt for their greed. Shepard has earned peace; Garrus, acceptance. They have fought and bled and lost for the galaxy and the galaxy can stay quiet for a moment for them.

 ...

The last kiss is not the last.

Garrus worries—the last time she left him behind, she didn’t come back. That kiss hadn’t been enough and this one won’t be either. _Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go._ And he wonders if he wouldn’t trade the whole of the galaxy away, if it meant keeping Shepard.

And Shepard knows her chances. She sees everything before her and she worries too.

But she swears she will come back this time. A goodbye kiss will not be all that is left of Shepard and Vakarian. That's not how she's going to finish this fight.

**Author's Note:**

> "Whatcha working on, Lev?" "Fuck if I know."   
> Let's be open and honest here: this is a first draft (and maybe only draft, I honestly don't know if I'll go back over this) borne of frustration and me not being able to work on what I'm trying to work on because my brain is doing That Thing where the words I'm putting on the page are Not Right. And I spent the last two days not writing so I sat my disgruntled ass down and made this... thingy. So.


End file.
